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I did not attend this concert.
But I have a ticket stub and a story, so I say it counts. And what I say goes, so here ‘goes:
With more than three decades of retrospect to let the memories steep, it occurs to me that I was living a rather ideal bohemian life during the hazy summer of 1993. I and my cat Studebacher Hoch spent that summer living with a couple of my university chums for a pittance per month, which I paid for by making ballon animals for tips in the Market with my best buddy Jojo for an hour or two every morning (if it didn’t rain) and by busking outside a liquor store (alone) for an hour or two every afternoon (the doorway of the liquor store was covered so I did that one rain or shine, and year-round too; even in the depths of the notoriously frigid Ottawa winters).
I paid for everything in change that summer.
As perfect as this setup was, after doling out enough pocket change to cover rent and food and beer I didn’t have a whole lot of extra money sitting around, which must be why I didn’t buy a ticket to The Tragically Hip’s first iteration of their three-time traveling roadshow, Another Roadside Attraction. What a shame. What an idiot. This one would feature Midnight Oil, Daniel Lanois, Hothouse Flowers, Crash Vegas, and of course The Tragically Hip.
One of my housemates was (and remains) totally connected. Back in ’93 he was coming off a multi-year stint as student body president at our university and about to take his initial dive into the lucrative world of hi-tech education, an international movement that he currently sits near the top of. Anyway, on the morning of July 26th Evil* came into the kitchen with big news as I busied myself frying my morning egg & cheese on toast. I forget how, but he had scored a free ticket to Another Roadside Attraction at Landsdowne Park that night, adding that there was a chance that once he was inside he’d be able to score me one as well.
While I was appreciative of his offer, the first of the month was coming up and I just didn’t have enough nickels in the old rent jar to justify taking the afternoon off from busking so I could wait by the phone just in case Evil was able to secure me a pass. I thanked him and said I’d think about it, and I did.
And I suppose you can guess the rest. After thinking about it, somehow this obviously fiscally irresponsible young adult decided to do the fiscally responsible thing, and I went busking. Of course, while I was gone Evil called the house (twice) telling me to get my butt over to Landsdowne. “The tickets get us backstage and everything,” the answering machine said, mocking me. “There’s tons of free food and free beers on ice!”
Beeeeeep!**
Then came message number two, whispered: “The bald guy from Midnight Oil is sitting ten feet away from me eating potato salad…”
Beeeeeep!**
Damn. There were free beers?!?
I had made about $40 busking. Stupid fiscal responsibility.
Love ya, Evil.
*”Evil” was his nickname, not his demeanour.
**Answering machine tones or censored expletives? You decide.
Todd Man Out 